Supernumerary
by hopscotchkettle
Summary: After Ichigo is imprisoned in Las Noches, he begins to form a rather unexpected bond with the Cuarta Espada... Ulqui/Ichigo
1. Prologue

"If Aizen-sama deems it so, then surely you deserve to die."

"You really think that's true?"

"It's not important what I think."

There was a stagnant pause that clung to the heavy air. The chains around Ichigo's hands and ankles jingled loudly as he stepped forward, the sound echoing off the solid walls. Inside, Ulquiorra silently begged for him to stop coming closer, even as he made no move to escape himself. He felt the insects in his stomach begin to scramble hurriedly as Ichigo's cut-up, dirty hands reached up to cup his chin the best they could in their bound state.

Ulquiorra wanted to turn away. He wanted to leave the room, and the boy, behind. He wanted to forget everything, but he had the crushing awareness that he would not. He could not, after all of this time, let it go. Let him go.

"Ulquiorra." Ichigo's voice nearly trembled. Had Ulquiorra been pretending not to see the wetness in the others eyes, his voice gave away the emotions ravaging the teen. Emotions that seemed to soak through his skin and into him as well, as Ulquiorra felt his throat tighten. "Even if it's not important…"

"Stop." Ulquiorra demanded, not taking his eyes away from Ichigo's pleading ones.

"I want to know…" Ichigo ignored the command, ever still the stubborn brat.

"Ichigo." Ulquiorra shook his head, bringing his hands to Ichigo's, fully intending to remove them from his face but finding he could only hold them there.

"Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

--TBC


	2. Chapter 1

Six Months Earlier…

Ulquiorra sat at the desk in one of the rooms located within his quarters. He held a book in one hand and was scribbling into a notebook with the other as he read. The text was a reference for intermediate students of the human French language, which he had been studying in his miniscule free time. He had always found fictional literature to be a rather unfortunate waste of a medium that could be used to educate rather than indulge in some senseless fantasy. It was alleviating when he found Aizen had stocked the library within Las Noches with educational books as well as ridiculous fiction novels.

A commotion from the hallway outside his quarters shook the pure silence within the study, but Ulquiorra ignored it. It was not uncommon for Arrancar, or even other Espada, to get into rowdy disputes whenever they were bored. Only when the noise became distinguishable as tortured shrieks did Ulquiorra

feel obligated to check and make sure the others weren't making a bloody mess of the pristine halls.

He marked his place before setting the book down and making his way to the hall. Once outside, he noticed a gathering of arrancar a few hundred feet away, the crying voice coming from somewhere in the middle of the group. He also took notice of a small trail of smeared blood droplets that stretched down the hall and into the group, perceptibly belonging to the owner of the screams. Ulquiorra approached the colorful sounds with bored interest.

"He's giving them quite a work-out, hm?" Came the amused voice of the Octava Espada, Szayel Aporro Granz, from Ulquiorra's side. "The boy has a healthy set of lungs on him."

The pink-haired Espada stood with one arm hugging his middle, the hand of the other curiously brushing his chin. His amber eyes glanced to Ulquiorra, acknowledging the Cuarta's arrival to the little show.

"Who is it?" Ulquiorra asked, expecting the incessant vulgar cursing to belong to some bad-mannered Arrancar.

"Kurosaki Ichigo." Szayel said with an entertained intonation.

That was quite a surprise. The teen and his band of friends had been an annoyance for a while, though Ulquiorra never doubted that he would have been dealt with in due time. The surprise came from the fact the orange-haired boy had been brought to Las Noches instead of being disposed of. Aizen must have had something else in mind for the substitute Shinigami.

"I had them inject him with a mild sedative a few minutes ago, but he's still fighting it." Szayel commented, not sounding the least bit perturbed. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the whole spectacle.

"Stubborn brat." Ulquiorra concluded, slipping his hands into his pockets, already boring of this turn of events.

Soon, Ichigo's struggling screams began to die down and the group dispersed. Ulquiorra watched as the limp, battered teen was dragged, half-stumbling, in the direction of the confinement cells. He noted that the boy's wrists had been bound together the entire time he had been giving the others so much trouble. It was almost endearing.

Ulquiorra turned away from the sight, intending to return to his quarters. He paused only to address Szayel: "Have someone clean the floors, Octava."

Szayel shot him an exasperated glare, but didn't dispute the command as Ulquiorra walked away. The Cuarta carefully avoided the bloody smears as he approached his door, some of them having dried to the point of turning brown. He had just set his hand on the door handle when he felt a familiar vibration of energy rush through his nerves. Aizen was assembling the Espada, most likely to discuss their newest "guest". Ulquiorra immediately detoured, now heading for the meeting hall.

"I don't see why we don't just kill the fucker now that we have him." Grumbled Grimmjow, the Sexta Espada. The sentiment seemed to be shared by a number of the others, who mumbled agreeing remarks.

Ulquiorra remained quiet, awaiting their leader's plans, even if he was curious as well. Aizen regarded them all with an air of amusement. Once the grumbling died down, the ex-shinigami began to speak.

"Have faith…" He spoke in that authoritative, composed tone Ulquiorra admired. "I will explain my actions with time. At the moment, however, I would like to know of the boy's current well-being."

Many of the Espada seemed dissatisfied with this explanation, though they did not voice their opposition. Instead, most turned to Szayel, who took his cue to speak, describing the teenager's brashness and the need to sedate him, as well as his minimal, mostly surface wounds. Aizen nodded as the Octava finished.

"I imagined he wouldn't be captured easily. Please be sure he heals well, it's very important that he does. I expect the rest of you to assist in this. Don't harm him any further, for now." Aizen finished with a satisfied smile.

More disgruntled expressions fell upon the Espada members, though they withheld their whining until they were dismissed.

"What a load of bullshit!" Nnoitra Jiruga's voice was the first to echo the mental fury many of the others were thinking.

Ulquiorra snorted at the blatant display of distrust in their leader's decision, and only minutes after having been reassured all was well. Several Espada launched into ramblings about how "unfair" and "idiotic" the situation was. Ulquiorra, however, felt curious instead.

He wondered what would be in store for the newly imprisoned Kurosaki Ichigo.

A few hours later, Ulquiorra was walking towards the library. The French language text he had finally finished studying was tucked under one arm, as he was ready to return it. His hands were in his pockets.

Muffled shouting that he now recognized as belonging to the young pseudo-shinigami grew louder as he passed the confinement hall where the cells were located. Unpleasant explicative-laced barks reached even outside the closed cell door. A loud bang came soon after, followed by the loud clanging of something metal falling to the solid floor.

Ulquiorra paused in time to see a lithe male arrancar exit the room with what appeared to be bits of food clinging to his hair and clothes. He angrily thrust a beat up-looking tray into Szayel's hands, the Octava having been standing expectantly outside the cell. The fuming arrancar trudged away, chunks of food falling from his attire and onto the floor. Ulquiorra felt the faintest tickle of amusement pull inside him as he continued onward.

The library was a spacious, multi-story room with a straight staircase in the center that lead to the second and third floor. The first floor had the widest expanse of bookshelves, with rows upon rows that were, unfortunately, dedicated mostly to fiction. It also had a small cluster of armchairs off to the side of the entrance where one could sit and read.

The second floor held the more educational, non-fiction books. It wrapped around the perimeter of the space like a balcony over the first floor. There were also small rows of comfortable chairs located along the railings which were occasionally separated by end tables.

The third floor was also balcony-like and had the least amount of shelves. Most of its materials were carried over from what couldn't fit on the second and therefore most of the floor space was dedicated to more seating. There were also a few abstract strategy games such as chess and mancala stacked neatly on one shelving unit. Ulquiorra also felt this was unfitting of a library, though the other denizens seemed to enjoy them even more than the books.

Although there were empty carts to place read books for later shelving, Ulquiorra remembered where he had previously obtained the text and decided to replace it himself. He walked up the stairs and went to the familiar shelf, placing the book carefully next to its sibling, the beginner's guide. Reaching for the third in the series, he realized the advanced book was missing. He was sure it had been there when he began studying the intermediate book. Someone else had most likely borrowed it.

Slightly frustrated by this, Ulquiorra scanned the shelves for another subject to occupy him until the French book was returned. He walked along the shelves that rested against the walls, idly running the tips of his pale fingers over the smooth wood. He had almost reached the end of the shelves when an orange book of medium thickness caught his eye. The golden text on the spine read: A History Of Western Europe.

With gentle care, Ulquiorra pulled the text from the shelf. He opened it to the preface, scanning over the general premise of the book before turning the pages until he found the section he was most interested in in the moment. The French history section was rather lengthy and he figured he might as well read something at least related to the book he had originally wanted.

Contented with his choice, he tucked the book under his arm where the other had been secured and exited the library. As he made his way down the hall he was halted by Szayel, much to his inconvenience, at the mouth of the confinement all.

"Hey! Ulquiorra!" Szayel called as he approached the superior ranked Espada.

"Yes, Octava?" Ulquiorra responded, his slight irritation evident in his voice.

"The brat won't eat." Szayel said, indicating the cell with a jerk of his head.

"That doesn't concern me." Ulquiorra said as he moved to continue towards his quarters.

Szayel gave an incensed sigh. "Come on, you know Aizen-sama told us to take care of the little shit!"

Ulquiorra paused, giving a half-sigh himself, then turned around. He walked towards the cell, followed by a rather relieved-looking Szayel. Outside the cell sat a stand and on top of it sat another tray of food. Ulquiorra picked up the tray with one hand, using the other to set the book down on the stand, then to open the cell door.

The cell was a small, windowless room with a single light embedded in the ceiling. It was empty save for its unwilling resident and the chains about the captor's wrists and ankles that attached to the wall. The chains, Ulquiorra recognized, were specially designed to constrict spiritual energy. They did not, however, do anything to control the boy's temper.

"You'll all fucking pay for this!" Ichigo shouted the second Ulquiorra entered the room.

The teen's voice was ragged and weakening from his incessant screaming, but his brown eyes still held his passionate rage that, while far from intimidating Ulquiorra, was somewhat admirable. Blood clung, dried and crusted to his lower lip and chin and trailed down from his temple. More brownish-red old blood stained the tattered shinigami robes he wore. Ulquiorra imagined the dark stains probably made the material stiff and uncomfortable but he did not notice any newer, wet stains. The others had followed orders.

"Tell me where they fucking are!" Ichigo sobbed, pulling uselessly at the tethered chains, attempting to reach Ulquiorra. The chains were short and Ulquiorra imagined they hardly had enough slack to allow the boy to lie on the floor, let alone reach the other side of the room.

"Who?" Ulquiorra inquired, still holding the food tray out of Ichigo's range. "You were the only person brought in. I imagine if you had any companions they were dealt with accordingly."

Finally, an emotion other than rage flashed across the teen's face. His muscles went slack and the boy fell back, resting on his knees with his back to the wall. Those fiery eyes softened a little, and stared at the wall opposite.

How pathetic, Ulquiorra thought, and just when he was developing some sort of respect for the fake shinigami. With no further interest in the boy, Ulquiorra stepped forward and set the tray before Ichigo's now sedated form.

"I would think in your current situation it would be imperative that you behave obediently. Lest you end up like your friends." With that, Ulquiorra headed back towards the door.

Just as his hand met the handle, a dull thud hit his back, followed seconds later by the feeling of cold, wet food running down his hair and back. Ulquiorra froze, then whirled around to look at Ichigo, who sat still prone in a throwing position, an arrogant smirk plastered on his tear-stained face. Ulquiorra turned silently back to the door and exited.

Upon seeing him, Szayel obviously had to fight back some billowing laughter. It wasn't everyday one could see the Cuarta covered with filth. Ulquiorra ignored this.

"Do not feed him for two days." Ulquiorra commanded, brushing some food off of his shoulder.

"What?" Whatever amusement Szayel was gathering died off. "What about what Aizen-sama said?"

"Consider it an order from a superior." Ulquiorra said, grabbing his nearly forgotten book from the stand.

"You better know what you're doing, Ulquiorra." Szayel sighed behind him as Ulquiorra walked away.

Ulquiorra was not concerned; It never took long to train a stray mongrel.


End file.
